


Five First Kisses

by china_shop



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gay Bar, Hospitals, Kisses, M/M, Missing Scene, Not Canon Compliant, Party, Romance, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Steve and Sam hook up. Shameless fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Get to This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mergatrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/gifts).



> Many thanks to mossybomb and mergatrude for beta. Chapter titles are from Marvin Gaye songs.

It started when Kurt nudged Sam in the ribs and shouted in his ear, "That guy at the end of the bar has his eye on you."

"Who?" said Sam, keeping casual, forcing himself not to look. 

"Your four o'clock. Blond, leather jacket, killer eyelashes," said Kurt, and then Jerome came and dragged him onto the dance floor.

Sam turned his head, casually scanning the other patrons, glad he'd taken the time to change his shirt before he'd answered Jerome's impromptu birthday summons, and oh. _Oh._ "You could've mentioned he was drop-dead gorgeous," he muttered to the absent Kurt, his pulse picking up in time to the pounding music. 

The guy was vaguely familiar – Sam couldn't place him, but he was too young to be a politician; maybe an actor? An athlete? – and he kept sneaking glances in Sam's direction, just like Kurt had said. He was broad-shouldered and smooth-jawed, almost certainly a vet, and he looked nice. The kind of guy you could count on. There was a hint of humor around his eyes.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and raised his empty beer bottle in salute, and the guy ducked his head for a moment, half-hiding a smile, and started making his way around the bar. Sam gave himself a quick once-over, straightened his shirt, and grinned a welcome when the guy edged sideways through the crowd and washed up on Sam's shore. 

Up close, he was taller and broader than Sam had realized. "Hi," he said, leaning close to be heard over the roar of conversation and music.

"Hi, yourself," said Sam, assailed by a sudden wave of lust and trying to keep his head straight. He swallowed half a dozen cheesy lines and held out his hand. "Sam."

"Steve." His handshake was firm and dry, and his hand was huge. "Buy you a drink?"

"Sure." Sam leaned in too, using the ambient noise as an excuse. "You here with anyone?"

"I don't know a lot of people," said Steve, looking away, trying to get the bartender's attention. "You?"

"Friend's birthday. They're—" Sam jerked his head toward the dance floor. "Hey, have we met before?"

"I'd remember." Steve's eyelashes swept down, long and distracting, and when he looked up again, his gaze was earnest. "I'm pretty new in town."

"Just got back, huh?" Sam licked his dry lips. "I could show you around." It was half genuine offer and half innuendo, and Sam didn't know which of those Steve heard loudest, but his smile widened, all-American and somehow old-fashioned, and Sam had to look away. 

Steve finally managed to order their drinks, and they retreated to a spot by the wall where they could watch the dancing and the noise levels were marginally more bearable. 

"My coworker, Natasha, keeps trying to set me up with women," said Steve. 

"You're not out?" Sam felt a small tug of dismay. He'd been with closeted guys before, but it had never ended well. He'd never been good at lying. DADT had sucked.

Steve gave an easy shrug. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm just waiting to see how long it takes her to figure it out."

There was enough mischief in his eyes that Sam relaxed. "How long's it been so far?"

"Coming up on six months," said Steve. He caught Sam's eyeroll and added, in the tone of someone trying to be fair, "She has certain preconceptions about me."

"Yeah, don't they all," said Sam. The music changed, and Sam weighed his options: he could ask Steve to dance, or he could suggest they get out of here before they went hoarse from shouting. They were already standing close, shoulders against the wall, facing each other with so little space between them Sam had to turn his head to drink his beer. He swayed a little closer. "Hey, listen, you want to go grab a cup of coffee, somewhere we can actually hear ourselves talk?"

Steve raked his teeth over his lower lip, considering for a moment, and Sam's gaze was drawn to the even white teeth dragging across lush skin. He licked his own lips in involuntary anticipation, and Steve must have read into that, because he bent forward and kissed him, soft and chaste, pulling back before Sam had a chance to react. "Coffee sounds good."

"Uh, good. Great." Sam was blushing, his heart thumping like he was flying through a battle zone, all from one innocent little kiss. He rested his hand on Steve's big, broad chest in his own gesture of _hell, yeah_ and shouted into his ear, "Don't go anywhere, okay? I have to say goodbye to my friends. I'll be ten seconds, fifteen tops."

"I'll be here." 

It was too hot and crowded in the bar for Sam to possibly feel Steve's breath on his neck, but he did anyway. He stepped back and pointed to the spot where they were standing, emphasizing the agreed rendezvous, and then shoved his way into the crowd, looking for Kurt.

When he came back off the dance floor, no more than a minute or two later, Steve came to meet him, phone in hand. He was frowning, his previously relaxed attitude gone. "Sam, I'm sorry. I've just been called in to work."

Sam's excitement evaporated. Steve really did look regretful, and he seemed like a good guy, but it was obviously a brushoff. Who had to go to work at a quarter to ten on a Thursday night? More likely Steve was having second thoughts about being gay in public outside of a gay bar. And that was up to him; Sam wasn't going to force anyone out of the closet, but he wasn't prepared to be jerked around either. He shrugged. "Hey man, no harm, no foul. I'll see you 'round." 

He started to turn away, pride keeping him moving, but Steve caught his arm.

"It's an emergency," he said earnestly. "Listen, can I give you my number?" He shifted his weight, clearly in a hurry, looking at Sam with big puppy dog eyes, and something in Sam said, _Yeah, give this guy a chance._ So he handed over his phone and watched Steve's frown of concentration as he entered the digits and gave the phone back. "Call me, okay?" 

"Yeah." The phone was warm in Sam's hand. He gave Steve a gentle shove. "Now go on, I thought you said it was an emergency. Get out of here."

He watched Steve turn and dive toward the door, threading his way through the crush of people like an eel. Wow, he was quick on his feet. Maybe he _was_ an athlete, and that was why he looked so hauntingly familiar. Sam looked at his phone, the name and number Steve had typed in, and then blinked and looked again.

Steve Rogers? Holy shit. Steve was _that_ Steve. Sam smacked his palm to his forehead. And Natasha was _that_ Natasha. Steve probably only mentioned her because he was trying to clue Sam in. And hell, the work emergency could be anything from another alien invasion to whatever else might show up on the Recent Disasters portion of the evening news. Sam checked the headlines on his phone, but there was nothing obvious yet. Still, his shoulders suddenly felt unencumbered and _wrong_. If he'd still had his wing pack, he could have followed after Steve and lent a hand. 

As it was, he settled for sending a text: _Okay, so now I feel like a total dumbass for not recognizing you sooner._

He didn't really expect a reply straightaway, but his phone buzzed a few seconds later. _FWIW, a really hot dumbass with a great smile._

Sam grinned. _Dude, srsly, I work at the VA. You're like our patron saint._

_Weird. Pretty sure I'm not a saint._

It was too good an opening to pass up. _Yeah? Come find me when you're done saving the world and prove it._

A minute passed with no answer. Sam wondered if he'd gone too far, assumed too much. He considered going back onto the floor to find Kurt and Jerome and dance off some of his anticipation, but barring visits from hot gay national heroes, he was done for the night. He went out into the cool night air and hailed a cab instead.

He'd just given the driver his address when his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up and laughed out loud when he saw the message: _Count on it. Btw, Nat claims she knew all along. She says hi._


	2. Take This Heart of Mine

Sam looked up at the knock on his office door. "Hey, you must be my two o'clock. Steve, right?" Then he got a better look at the guy, just as clean-cut and heroic as he looked in the documentaries and on the posters, and felt his eyes widen. But he was a professional, dammit, so he ignored the inconvenient – and probably inevitable; the guy must get a thousand offers a day – stirrings of attraction and waved him toward the visitor's chair. "Come in, take a load off."

"Steve Rogers," said Steve, as if everyone in the United States and probably half the rest of the world wouldn't recognize him on sight. He seemed nervous. Not as fragile as some, but definitely not all right.

"Sam Wilson," said Sam, with his best reassuring smile. "What brings you to the VA, Steve?"

"Well, I'm thinking of enlisting."

His deadpan delivery surprised a laugh out of Sam, but he resisted the urge to banter. "No, really."

"Really I was reading your website, and it said that – well, that it can be helpful to talk to someone." Steve took a deep breath. "So here I am."

"Good for you," said Sam, reaching for the New Client Details form. "Before we go any further, you should know I'm not a qualified shrink, so legally speaking, there's no protected client confidentiality, but short of a subpoena or danger to yourself or others, we will protect your information, and nothing you say here leaves this room."

"I think I can trust you," said Steve, his gaze open and warm. "I'm a pretty good judge of character."

"Uh, great." Sam gripped his pen a little tighter and stared back helplessly, until a door banged out in the hallway, and then he blinked a couple of times and looked down at the form. The DOB field jumped out at him. He pushed the form aside. "How about we start by getting to know each other? You must miss the good old days, huh?"

Steve looked down at his hands, resting on his knees, and chewed his lip for a moment, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Actually, is there someone else I could talk to?"

"Sure, of course. I can see if Karen's available," said Sam automatically, his stomach dropping. Had letting on that he recognized Steve been a mistake? Should he not have mentioned the old days? "Mind if I ask why?"

"I don't usually—" Steve ducked his head, then looked up and took a deep breath. His cheeks were pink. "Because I know we've only just met, but I'd like to ask you out, if you're available, and I'm pretty sure if we do this—" His gestured encompassed the two of them and Sam's desk. "—we can't do that."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, that's a no-go zone." Sam forced himself to stay outwardly cool, but inside he was doing a touchdown dance. Steve was wryly funny and cute as hell. It had been a long time since Sam had met anyone he could have gotten serious about, and the fact that Steve was drawn to him enough to make a move _here_ , so soon, was something else again. 

"Right," said Steve, nodding. "But if I see Karen?"

A grin was spreading across Sam's face. He cleared his throat and did his best to look thoughtful and responsible. "Then that wouldn't be a problem."

Steve raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"I can book you an appointment." Sam reached for the phone, then changed his mind and stood up. There was a new intern on reception. It would be quicker to go and check the schedule himself. "Give me a minute."

"Only if you want to." Steve was watching him with a mix of amusement and obvious self-consciousness. "I mean, I don't want to put you in an awkward position or anything. I just—"

"Hey, no, me too," said Sam, quickly, and since he was already standing, he put his hand on the filing cabinet by Steve's head and leaned in a little. _You can put me in any position you want,_ he thought, but it was too soon to say that, so he lowered his voice and said, "I like you too."

Up this close, Steve's skin was smooth and perfect, his blue eyes shining at Sam, eyes you could drown in, and Sam figured what the hell, they'd already crossed the line from professional to personal, so he bent forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth, feeling the faint rasp of stubble against his lips. It was meant to be a quick hello, just to prove Sam was on board, make sure they were on the same gay page, but Steve made a startled noise and turned his head _into_ the kiss, parting his lips to invite Sam's tongue in, an invitation Sam couldn't help but accept, and then the chair went crashing to the floor, and Sam had Steve pressed back against the filing cabinet, both of them gasping, hands everywhere.

And then there was knocking, and the door burst open, and Karen was standing there, arms akimbo. "Everything okay in here?"

Sam sprang back, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Yes," he said, too loudly. "Yeah, everything's – it's great."

Steve turned bright red. 

Karen snorted.

"Karen, this is Steve," said Sam. "Steve, Karen."

Steve gave a little wave. "Hi. I'd like to make an appointment."


	3. After the Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Because they'd only known each other a week, and it was too soon to say, _Wanna get married?_ )

Agent Hill led them to a convenient blind spot in SHIELD's surveillance on the perimeter fence, and Sam flew her and Steve over the razor wire. Then they hiked a narrow trail through the woods. When they came to the shore of the Potomac, they paused and looked across the water at the Triskelion. From this vantage point, it could have been any multinational corporate HQ. There was no hint of the disastrous corruption that lay within. 

Sam put aside his mental list of everything that could go wrong, everything that could be lost today. They had to succeed, that was all there was to it. They had to make it. He moved to Steve's side. "So, man, something I have to ask."

"Mm?" Steve was only half-listening, still staring out, giving Fate the hairy eyeball.

Agent Hill was off to one side, politely pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Sam drew on all his bravado. "When we're done here, can I buy you dinner?"

Steve blinked and turned to Sam, eyebrows raised under his Captain America suit helmet. Yeah, that had got his attention. 

Sam shrugged and grinned, pretending like it was a simple invitation and not a covert declaration of his DEFCON-3-level crush. "Can't blame a guy for asking, right?"

"Right," said Steve with a faint smile. He tugged off his helmet, leaving his head bare, hair ruffled. "Can't blame him at all." He took Sam by the shoulders, thumbs slipping under the straps of the wing pack, and leaned in and planted one on him, sweet and earnest. 

Sam laughed against his mouth, the pre-battle adrenaline in his system mixing with a different kind of excitement, and that made Steve start to pull away, so Sam flung his arms around the guy and hugged him tight. "Your kissing isn't so bad, I don't care what Natasha says."

Steve's eyes widened. "Wait, you talked to Natasha about this? What did she say?"

Sam winked. "Just one more reason for me to have your back, dude." He kissed Steve again, quick and hard, and then stepped back and shook himself all over, getting his head in the game. If they survived, there'd be plenty of time for long, luxurious make-outs later. "Okay. All right. Let's do this."


	4. No Matter How Far

Sam woke to the steady beep of a heart monitor and the soft sweet strains of Marvin Gaye. He knew he'd just had his ass handed to him, and he was definitely in the hospital, but it took him a few moments to remember what had happened. Oh, right, HYDRA. That asshole soldier, and then the building had been chewed up by one of the helicarriers, and Sam had hurled himself into a chopper midair. And Steve – Steve was MIA.

Sam fought through whatever drugs they had him on. Opening his eyes felt like bench-pressing an F‑16, but he did it. There was an iPod on the swivel table, that was where the music was coming from, and hunched in a chair, bandaged and bruised and wearing too-small hospital scrubs, was Steve. He was giving his own hands the thousand-yard stare, but he was still breathing, and that was what counted

Sam licked his lips. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

It came out more of a raspy whisper than the wry witticism he intended, but it got Steve's attention.

"You're awake." Steve pulled his chair closer to the bed. "Sam, hey."

Sam's throat was utterly parched, and he motioned for water, only then realizing his hand was in a cast. After a few sips, he said, "Did we win?" and his voice sounded better this time. Stronger.

Steve smiled faintly. "Yeah, we won."

It had been worth it, then – Sam's own injuries and whatever had happened to Steve. It was the price they'd had to pay to save the world. He looked down the bed to check he still had all his limbs, but he couldn't focus well enough to be sure. "What's the damage?"

"Three ribs, left collarbone, two metacarpals and a dislocated knee," said Steve. "And a concussion. We didn't know if you were going to wake up." He was sitting up straighter now, his gaze clear. Sam reached out with his good hand, and Steve took it, gripping so tight it would've hurt if Sam hadn't been doped up to the eyeballs on painkillers.

"How long was I out?"

"Two days." Steve gave a deep sigh. "Natasha's been called before Congress. She's going to talk us out of treason charges."

"Right person for the job." Sam had learned enough about Natasha's background to know she could probably convince anyone of just about anything.

"Yeah." Steve leaned forward. "Sam, I hate to leave you like this."

"He's still out there, your guy," Sam guessed. "He got away."

"Every law enforcement agency in the country's looking for him now. I have to find him first, before someone gets him cornered. Before he—" Steve clenched his jaw. 

Sam heard him loud and clear. "I know. Go. I'll catch up when I get out of here."

The collarbone would keep him grounded, but his wings were shredded anyway. He could still shoot.

"No," said Steve. "The broken bones, maybe, but you can't shrug off a concussion like it's a headache. It takes time. You know that."

"I'll be fine." Sam wasn't letting Steve go out there alone.

"You will be fine, but not for this. I'm giving you a medical discharge." Steve looked determined. There was no question that he meant it.

Sam looked away, his eyes stinging. It wasn't fair or right. Steve needed him, and he was trapped here, useless. He took his hand away and rubbed his eyes. "Well, fuck."

"I know." 

The sympathy in Steve's voice almost undid Sam completely. He bit his lip and wrestled with self-control through the haze of drugs and the deep shadow of full-body pain that lurked underneath. 

Steve stood up, scraping his chair back, and towered over the bed. "Sam." 

Sam screwed his eyes shut, took a shaky breath and forced them open again. He needed to keep it together for Steve – and for his own self-respect. "Yeah?"

"We couldn't have done it without you." Steve bent down into Sam's line of sight. "It was you who got me this far."

Sam stared at him, awash with frustration and the thwarted epic love that would never go anywhere now. He'd lost his heart, and it could have been a fairytale, the two of them, but Steve was Captain America, he had a job to do, and Sam had weeks, maybe months of recovery time ahead of him: slowed reaction time, compromised coordination, fatigue. Whatever chance they'd had of working side-by-side was gone.

But Steve's gaze was bright and intent, and there was a soft buzzing tension in the air between them – something more than regret, something that twisted Sam's grief into a flicker of hope. Steve reached out and brushed his thumb carefully along Sam's lower lip. "I'll come back, I swear."

And that, that right there, was enough to send the hope flaring into certainty. 

"You'd better." Sam studied him, memorizing the bruises and the determined line of his jaw. The sweet curve of his lips. The posters and comic books had never done him justice; they were always about the hero, not the man.

The corner of Steve's mouth turned up, and he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Sam's temple, and as if on cue, the iPod started playing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." They both cracked up.


	5. A Little Bit More Each Day

New Year's Eve, 2014. Sam leaned against the wall in the hallway, out of the bustle of the party, and watched Steve in the kitchen, laughing at something Grace was saying. They looked good together, her dark hair contrasting with his blond, and Sam should be glad they were hitting it off. Steve had been quieter the last month or so, thoughtful. He needed someone, and hey, maybe if he got a girlfriend, Sam could finally settle down and stop being so aware of him.

"Where's your super-boyfriend?" asked Marlon, sticking his head out the living-room doorway. He came over and handed Sam a cold, sweating beer.

"Hey, man." Sam gave him a loose hug. Before Steve, Marlon had been Sam's best friend to the point where Sam had probably spent more waking hours at Marlon's place than his own. Luckily, Marlon didn't seem to bear any ill-will about the way Sam had dropped off the face of the earth and spent the last eight months chasing HYDRA all over the country. He'd taken Sam and Steve out for drinks a couple times since they got back, just sports, politics and beer, and Steve and Marlon had gotten along fine. Marlon had mostly behaved himself. "He's not my boyfriend, and he's in the kitchen with Grace."

Grace and her sister Lisa were their hosts. Sam had known them both since grade school, and Grace had a long reputation of landing any single straight guy she set her sights on. It helped that she was funny and smart and nice as well as beautiful. She and Steve had a lot in common.

Marlon cast a lazy glance toward the kitchen where Steve was actually giggling, his ears as pink as Grace's dress. "Bet you twenty they're talking about you."

Sam groaned. "Oh man, don't even. You're not helping." Steve had been through too much already. Sam was determined not to add to it by hitting on him and making the one normal friendship in the guy's life awkward and weird. "We're in the friend zone, and we're staying there."

Marlon knew him too well to buy any bullshit. "You dumbass, have you even come out to him yet?"

"Yes," said Sam. "No. Sort of." He hadn't been hiding that he was bi; it just hadn't come up. It wasn't the kind of thing that slipped easily into conversation, especially when most of your conversations were about evil scientists trying to subjugate humanity, how much America had changed since FDR and where to go for breakfast.

Marlon was shaking his head in exasperation. "What's happened to you, man? You used to go after what you wanted – or at least be upfront about it."

"Hey, I'm fine," said Sam. "This isn't about me." It was about Steve. Someone had to keep an eye on him, the amount of trouble that followed him around. Drooling over the guy wouldn't help anyone. "How about you, anyway? Where's your better half?"

"She's in Philly with her parents." Marlon accepted the subject change with a roll of his eyes, and Sam elbowed him and gave him shit about staying up all night playing Civilization while his wife was out of town. Then they went to co-opt the sound system and get some better music pumping.

It was nearly midnight when Sam went looking for Steve again. He wasn't in the kitchen, and neither was Grace. Sam refused to jump to conclusions, much, despite Grace being Grace. He kept looking, going from room to room. He found Grace was in the dining room, at the center of a discussion of _Game of Thrones_ , but Steve wasn't there. Sam started to worry he'd slipped away, that he was going to spend the turning of the year on his own. 

"He said he needed some air," said Grace, when Sam asked. "He's a sweet guy, nothing like I expected."

Sam put his hands on his hips. "What did you expect?" 

"Something more frat boy. Over-confident. You know what I mean." Grace arched an eyebrow and said, "You should find him. I think there's something he needs to tell you," but Sam had caught a glimpse of a familiar blond head out on the porch, pale in the night, and he hardly heard what she was saying. 

He patted her arm. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

Steve was standing in the shadows with both hands braced on the railing, looking out at the street. He seemed lost in thought. 

"On your left," said Sam, softly. "How you doing?"

Steve turned his head and smiled, warm and pleased to see him. "Hey. Fine. Good." He straightened up and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. "Checking up on me?"

"Just making sure you're having a good time," said Sam. "It is a party."

Steve nodded. "You have great friends."

"Yeah, I do," said Sam, with a smile, making it clear he was including Steve in that category.

It was dark, but Sam could've sworn Steve was blushing. "Sam—" Inside the house, the music shut off and the countdown started, loud and joyful: _Ten, nine, eight—_ Steve broke off. "You should get back in there."

"I'm good." Sam set down the half-empty beer bottle he'd been absent-mindedly carrying around for the last twenty minutes. "Unless you want to."

 _Three, two, one—_ A huge cheer filled the air, and Sam watched through the window as his friends paired off and kissed each other to welcome in the New Year.

"No one sings _Auld Lang Syne_ anymore," murmured Steve.

He was standing so close, Sam had to swallow before he could answer. "Some people do. You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam. I'm not made of glass." The hint of impatience was uncharacteristic, and Sam turned to check he'd heard right. 

"Hey, easy. I just, you know, want you to be happy."

"I know, but _you_ should know I don't need sheltering." Steve's jaw was flexed, and Sam recognized that doggedness from the battlefield, but it was mixed with something else now. Something new, maybe a little nervous. Sam was still trying to make sense of it when Steve wrapped his arms around him, engulfing him in a bear hug. "Happy New Year."

Sam returned the sentiment and the hug, slapping Steve's back in the approved manly fashion, but Steve didn't slap, he just held on, so Sam stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed in the night air and the clean, warm smell of Steve, and allowed himself one moment of weakness.

It ended too soon. Steve pulled back, and Sam reluctantly let him go, expecting him to step away and resume normal operating conditions. But Steve stayed right there, gazing down at Sam with dark eyes and a hopeful expression that made Sam forget all the reasons he'd been kidding himself he was satisfied with being platonic. He reached out and laid his fingers along the smooth line of Steve's jaw, and Jesus, his hand was shaking, he wanted this so much. And it was terrifying, he was going to screw up something precious and irreplaceable, but he was in freefall. He couldn't help himself. 

Steve's eyes fell shut, those long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. Sam wished there were a way to stretch this out forever. For at least the whole of 2015. And then Steve turned his face into Sam's caress and kissed his palm.

All the air left Sam's lungs in a rush. His heart started rabbiting, he could feel it thrumming at the base of his throat, all down his limbs. Steve could probably feel it against his lips. The tremor of panic blended into excitement, elation, and Sam flung caution to the wind and slid his hand into Steve's hair and drew him in.

The first brush of lips against lips was electric. Steve shuddered and mumbled something that might have been, "At last," and Sam took shameless advantage of his lips parting and darted his tongue in, and then they were kissing, kissing, locked together, wet and hungry and dark, and Steve's hand was on Sam's ass like it belonged there, and the only coherent thought Sam could manage was, _No more holding back._


End file.
